Opportunity Cost
by accio.awesomeness
Summary: Fred winked at her. "Opportunity cost, Granger. You can have me or your chocolate. Take your pick." Hermione loses her job and the twins offer her a position in the shop...as one can imagine, all kinds of things ensue.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! This is part one of another short multi-chapter fic. Enjoy this first chapter! **

**No promises though, on when the next part will be up. Bear with me, alright? **

**Disclaimer: All recognisable plotlines, characters etc are property of J..**

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><p>The Weasley Twins were not easily taken by surprise. In actual fact, they were usually the ones who <em>surprised<em> people.

So it was an enlightening experience for them, one Monday evening, when Hermione Granger Apparated into the flat, prostrated herself miserably upon the bed and glumly announced, "I lost my job."

Mystified, the twins shared a bewildered look. This sort of stuff wasn't something they were equipped to deal with. The task of comforting Hermione (on the rare occasions when she needed comforting) usually fell to Harry and Ron.

Tentatively, Fred broke the silence. "Erm… where are Harry and Ron?"

The sentence was followed by a loud "OUCH!" Fred glowered at George, who was glowering right back at Fred's utter lack of tact. Hermione simply burrowed further under Fred's pillow with a sigh.

The second silence lasted a little longer.

"Harry's with Ginny. Ron's… somewhere," Hermione said at last, her words muffled by the pillow.

A third silence ensued.

At length, George worked up the nerve to break it. "Would you like some tea, Hermione?" he asked her. Fred rolled his eyes.

"No, thank you," Hermione mumbled from underneath the pillow.

The fourth silence lasted – by Fred's estimate – ten minutes and thirty-three seconds. He began to fidget around the eighth minute, and by the tenth he could take it no longer. "So what _do_ you want, Hermione?" he burst out.

"I want... a stiff drink, a hug and some ice cream. Not necessarily in that order."

"Shall we deal with the easiest first, then?" George suggested. She stiffened at the feel of his hands on her waist but allowed him to drag her from beneath the mess of blankets. He enfolded her in warm, strong arms and she hugged back tightly, willing her tears of humiliation to stay firmly inside her tear ducts. She hadn't been hugged by a man in the _longest_ time… she'd forgotten how safe it really felt.

"I'll go fix some Firewhiskey," George announced, gently disentangling himself. Her hair smelled really nice, he noted. Watermelons.

Awkwardly, Fred and Hermione eyed each other across the room. She didn't know what to think of Fred – he was more impatient than George, it seemed. Pressure built in her chest and a telltale lump formed in her throat from the effort of holding back tears.

At last, when two whole minutes had past, her eyes welled up; wordlessly, she held her arms out to Fred. Hesitantly, but not reluctantly, he crossed the small space and sat next to her, slinging a casual arm around her shoulder and pulling her tight to his chest. Her arms wrapped automatically around his soft waist and she breathed in deep, burying her face in his shirt.

To Fred, it seemed as though his heart had stopped beating. How odd it was, that Hermione Granger, of all people, should bring out such feelings in him. Her soft curls smelled of watermelon, her waist impossibly small.

As George entered with several shots of Firewhiskey, she pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes with shaking fingers. It only really helped to smear the makeup around, Fred noted. Gently pushing her hands away, he swiped the tears and the makeup off her face. A weak, grateful smile was shot in his direction before she turned to take a shot.

The liquor burned down her throat, making her gasp, but leaving her with a delightful trail of warmth all down her throat and to her belly. She started feeling fuzzy around the edges – she'd never had a very high tolerance for alcohol – and she slumped back into Fred's arms, hands stretched out for the pint of ice cream that George pressed into her hand. She cracked open the lid of the container and peered down into its depths.

"Mmmmh," she groaned, inhaling the cold, chocolatey scent. George chuckled, handing her a tablespoon to eat with.

The Weasley Twins settled down for a long night.

Three hours, two more shots and a pint of ice cream later, Hermione lay sprawled across Fred's chest on the bed. George was seated in a chair a little ways away with his feet up on the bed. One of Fred's arms was folded behind his head; the other traced circles on the sliver of exposed skin on Hermione's stomach.

The girl in question was dozing; the conscious part of her mind was wholly focused on Fred's fingers. His caress was almost an unconscious gesture, subconsciously affectionate. It was comforting.

So comforting, in fact, that she fell into a doze of sorts. Hovering on the edge of sleep, she wasn't entirely sure if the twins' conversation was a wild trick of her imagination or not.

"Her hair smells like watermelon," Fred murmured sleepily. George chuckled.

"I know."

"I feel awful. I mean, we see the girl every weekend. How did we not pick up on her loneliness?"

George shrugged.

"We should at least do something to help," Fred insisted.

"Like what?" George asked with raised eyebrows.

"I dunno… obviously there's not much we can do with Harry and Ron… but didn't you say last week that Verity's pregnant and we need a new shop assistant?"

George's eyes widened. "You may be onto something, brother of mine!" he cried, thumping Fred on the back. "Imagine if we got Hermione into the lab! She'd create products that'd send us worldwide."

"And she'd have a job," Fred reminded him, as if determined to be the good guy.

"Erm. Yeah," George agreed with a roll of his eyes. "Is she asleep?" he asked belatedly.

"Yepp. If she isn't, she's doing a right good job of pretending she is."

"It's almost four in the morning, mate. We should get some rest too. Want to crash in my room?"

"Nah. I might wake her if I moved," Fred replied, hoping his twin wouldn't realise that he really only wanted to stay curled up with Hermione and her lovely fruity scent.

"Suit yourself, mate. I know you've always loved watermelon." With a lascivious wink, George scudded from the room, closing the door with a snap before Fred could fling a pillow at him.

Fred closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep with the smell of watermelon around him.

The next morning, Hermione awoke to the smell of toast, bacon and tea.

"Hermione!" George sang as he entered the room. The smell of breakfast grew stronger.

She groaned, rolling over – but was surprised to find that she couldn't, owing the heavy, toned male arm lying across her torso.

Glancing to her right with wide eyes, she spotted a shirtless Fred in bed beside her. It was his arm that was pinning her to the bed.

Terrified, she tentatively peeked under the covers.

Okay. Clothes still on.

She breathed once again.

"Want me to wake him up?" George asked, fighting a smile.

"Please," Hermione requested in a strained voice.

Swiftly, George dumped a pitcher of water on Fred's head. Hermione gasped. Fred awoke with a splutter and a flailing of limbs.

"Wuzzgoinon?" Fred gargled.

"Good morning," Hermione said quietly, fighting laughter.

"Morning!" Fred exclaimed, bewildered. "But what – _oh_." George had shot him a meaningful look and the previous night's conversation flooded back.

"So, Hermione," George said conversationally just as she had taken her first sip of juice. "How would you like - "

"To be - "

"An honorary member of WWW staff?"

Hermione spat the juice out, spraying it all over the twins.

"_Really?_" she asked, her face alive with hope.

The twins grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I am so so so ultra uber sorry for the laaaaaaaaate update! I've been so caught up with school work and being sick (actually I went through a coughing fit writing the end of this) that I just had NO TIME. I don't think I've done this very well because I rushed to finish it, but I hope it'll be okay, at least until the next chapter. And don't worry - this isn't the end! There is Drama coming up!**

**Thank you to my reviewers: cherryweasley1998, smc1214, lknights91, thebedazzlingmasqueradegirl, Lunarox67, XxBlackShadowMagicxX, Evil People's Underwear (LOVE THE USERNAME!) and PoppiiD. Thanks also to everyone to favourited or alerted!**

**R&R!**

**Disclaimer: Na, bo.**

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><p>"Fred! I need more Gabbing Gum over here!"<p>

When no answer was heard, she stomped over to the lab and yanked the door open. "_Fred Weasley!_" The boy in question jerked awake guiltily, to find an annoyed Hermione giving him a serpentine glare.

"Gabbing Gum?" she requested menacingly.

Fred smothered a grin with a yawn as he turned to fetch the gum from the storeroom. Hermione had been working at the shop for two weeks and was already so familiar with the place that she regularly screeched at Fred and George for not doing something they were supposed to.

"Here you are, then," he said with a lazy smile, the box of Gabbing Gum in his arms. "Need me to carry it in for you?"

"Yes please," she replied, eyeing the heavy box.

The two walked in comparative silence to the door of the lab, whereupon Hermione, softening slightly, rested her hand on Fred's arm to stop him from walking out. "What time did you get to sleep last night?"

"I dunno," Fred replied, smothering another yawn. "Late."

"Wow. I hadn't figured that out by myself," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. Fred grinned down at her, motioning with his chin for her to open the door as both his hands were occupied with carrying the box of gum.

"Why were you up so late?" Hermione asked.

Fred faltered. "I…er… I had a good product idea."

Hermione was intrigued. "_Really?_" Levitating the box out of Fred's arms and onto a shelf, she walked with him back to the lab. "Tell me!"

He winced. He'd been up late because he'd spent half the night sitting by his window and wondering whether he was losing it. Since Hermione had started work in the shop, he'd been taking more and more notice of weird things he wouldn't normally take note of – the way her shoes complimented her legs, the fall of her almost knee-length robes (semi-tight bodice and a flared skirt), how her hair would gradually get frizzier as the day wore on. It was doing his head in.

"Er… later," he said hastily, scooting into the lab and shutting the door in a surprised Hermione's face. He slid down the door to the floor, dazed. Now he'd actually have to come up with a product idea… He thumped himself on the forehead for being so dim-witted.

Sighing, he trudged back to his table and set to work, outlining a list of ideas for new products.

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><p>It was past closing time before Fred felt confident enough in his idea to emerge from the lab. Yawning widely for what felt like the thousandth time that day, he entered the shop area – and almost as soon as he had entered, he wished he hadn't.<p>

Ordinarily, he would have been happy to see Lee Jordan, who had been one of his best mates since his first year at Hogwarts. Especially since the man in question, what with his wildly popular WWN station, rarely had the time to stop by at the shop.

It normally wouldn't even bother him when the guy was leaning against the counter, a familiar, flirtatious smile on his face as he chatted up a pretty bird. Just that, in this instance, the pretty bird happened to be his Hermione.

Your _Hermione? Back up, Freddie boy._

"Fred!" Lee exclaimed when Fred rounded the corner, face like thunder. "Or are you George, I've never been able to tell."

Hermione laughed, twirling her wand between her fingers. "That's Fred," she assured him, tapping the cash register with the wand. It sprung open; golden Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts clinked quietly. Jabbing the wand at a piece of parchment, paper and a quill flew up and began to write up the accounts for the day.

"I've never understood how you can do that," Fred frowned as he absentmindedly returned Lee's hug.

"What? An accounting spell?" Hermione said disbelievingly. "It's very simple magic… a first-year could pick it up. I've even modified it – when I was in the consultancy business with Hardy and Hardy, I changed the spell so not only would it take accounts, it would suggest courses of action depending on the state of accounts."

"You're brilliant, you are," Lee and Fred chorused in unison, starry-eyed.

Hermione simply blushed at the attention and turned back to the parchment. "You've made a good amount of profit today, Fred," she said slowly. Fred watched her warily; where was she going with this? "Any plans as to what you're going to use it for? Not something _so_ mundane as taking your beautiful, talented friend Hermione (whose shop assistant skills, incidentally, have helped your sales skyrocket) out for drinks, I presume?"

Fred grinned at the lengthy, typically Hermione sentence for a moment before her words registered. He swallowed, hoping it wasn't audible. He knew, of course, that Hermione meant it in a friendly way, but his breath came faster nevertheless.

Lee looked from one to the other calculatingly. He seemed to understand what was going on in Fred's head, which unnerved him, because he didn't.

"Yeah, go on, Fred," Lee encouraged. "I've been wanting to talk to George about something anyway." Hermione glanced at Fred, waiting for the verdict. Lee winked while her attention was diverted.

"Up for it?" Fred asked her, grinning. _Bless you, Lee._

"Definitely. Give me a minute to change?" she requested.

"Absolutely," he agreed. "I'll come to your place in ten minutes. That ok?"

Beaming at him, she Apparated away.

Heart thumping somewhere near his Adam's apple, Fred hurried upstairs and changed into a pair of dark Muggle jeans and a green shirt. He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and rushed out again, not bothering to check his hair in the mirror.

The next eight minutes were spent tidying up the shop. He whirled around Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in the manner of a particularly vindictive tornado, his attempt to tidy the shop totally bombing in his nervousness.

Precisely ten minutes after Hermione had left, he Apparated to her flat and knocked on the door. Hermione answered, earrings in hand.

"Oh, right on time," she said in an impressed voice. "Give me a second."

She slipped her earrings in and Fred surveyed her appearance. She wore a casual, yet elegant shirt-and-top combo - the skirt high-waisted and a silky green tank top. She slipped on the black ballet flats parked beside the door and stepped outside to join Fred.

"You look nice," he said as nonchalantly as he could.

"Thanks. So do you," she replied easily. "Shall we?"

Fred exaggeratedly offered her his arm. She took it with a laugh and they spun on the spot, reappearing in a dark alley somewhere along Selwyn Drive. Music could be heard blaring from a club nearby and they gravitated towards it, drawn by the thumping bass, even though it had not been Fred's original destination.

The music grew louder and louder as they drew nearer to the club and they stepped inside with a feeling of having come up from underwater. Hermione broke into an exhilarated grin, her legs already starting to move to the beat.

"Drinks or dancing first?" Fred asked her.

"Dancing," Hermione said immediately. Taking his hand, she wove her way onto the crowded dance floor, slipping sinuously through the gaps between one dancer and the next.

Seeming not to need a partner at all, Hermione turned a hipped circle – and stopped face-to-face with Fred. Smiling softly, he placed his hands on her waist and they danced, swirling together, spinning apart. The dance was not, perhaps, suited to Muggle clubbing but soon others noticed them and followed their example.

One hour later, a laughing Hermione stumbled to the bar, Fred in tow. Summoning the bartender, Fred ordered shots for the two of them – for after all, as he reminded Hermione, the night was still young.

"It's a bad habit, you know," Hermione slurred an hour later.

"What is?" Fred asked, amused. He was just a tiny bit tipsy and he was having fun talking to a drunk Hermione. Five men had approached her already and as she got progressively more and more drunk, her method of rejection became more and more entertaining. The first one she had turned down with a gracious 'No, thank you'. The fifth, however, received a bizarre cough/yawn/sneeze and a drunken, "Fuck no."

"Me drinking with you… and that other ginger person. Forge or whatever his name is. I always get too dwunk. I'm sure it's your fault," she accused, jabbing in Fred's direction with the neck of the bottle she was drinking from.

"How can it be my fault? You have embarrassingly low tolerance for alcohol," Fred quipped.

"I – I do not!" Hermione spluttered indignantly. Swaying to her feet, she tottered over to where Fred was sitting – and promptly fell, the heel of her shoe giving way. She fell with a thump that was drowned out by a violent guitar riff.

Bursting into peals of laughter, Fred crossed to where she had fallen. "Up you get," he chuckled, hauling her to her feet.

"That hurt," she pouted. Fred guffawed again; who would've know that Hermione Granger was such an entertaining drunk?

"Want to go home?" he asked, his arm around her waist to support her. He felt hot and cold all over from being this close to her – something he hadn't felt since he was fourteen and asked a girl out for the first time.

Hermione yawned widely. "Yes please." And she fell asleep.

Deciding it was better not to wake her, Fred scooped the sleeping girl up and exited the club, walking quickly down the deserted street and into the alley they had arrived in.

"_Scourus_," Fred muttered, aiming his wand at Hermione. She jerked awake as the sobering spell worked its unpleasant effects. It was an uneasy feeling, that of having alcohol scoured from inside your bloodstream.

"What was that for?" she scowled.

"Friends don't let friends Apparate drunk," Fred quoted.

"Heard of Side-Along?" Hermione questioned grumpily.

Fred smiled slyly. "Where's the fun in that?"

She simply groaned in response. "I'm too washed out to Apparate home in any case," she moaned. "Tired. And sobering spells always make me feel awful."

Fred considered this. "Want to kip at the flat, then?" he suggested.

"Yes, that'd be lovely," she replied gratefully, grasping his arm. He spun on the spot, pushing them both into the crushing darkness and out the other end into the flat above WWW.

Slightly uncoordinated as she was at the moment, Hermione stumbled, catching hold of Fred in a wild attempt to break her fall. The duo tumbled into the door, the wood cracking against Hermione's shoulder blades with a painful _thud_. She closed her eyes, willing the pain in her back to disappear.

When she opened them again, her gaze was met by a bright blue pair of eyes, concern shining in their cerulean depths. "You okay?" Fred asked worriedly.

"I will be," she assured him, right before it dawned on her just how close they were standing.

This same thing seemed to occur to Fred, who suddenly froze against her, his eyes darting nervously from her eyes to her nose to her lips to her forehead.

"Hermione?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes?" she breathed.

"Can I… can I kiss you?"

As soon as the words were out, Fred felt like thumping himself on the forehead with a Beater's bat. _'Can I kiss you'? Have you gone bonkers?_ his inner demon taunted.

But the inner demon was suddenly squashed underneath Fred's pounding heart as Hermione reached up on tiptoes and kissed him.

It was a beautiful kiss, sweet and simple and happiness-inducing. Fred felt glad that he'd cast the sobering charm, for otherwise the kiss would not have been nearly as perfect.

He pulled away for a second, only to duck in and kiss her again. Twice more he kissed her, each kiss chaste and heart-stoppingly sweet. The fourth kiss was barely a brush of lips, their eyes meeting as they held each other close.

"Shall we go in, then?" Fred asked, his voice cracking, breaking the intense silence.

Hermione turned the doorknob and stepped backwards into the flat. "We shall."


	3. Chapter 3

**I cannot begin to explain how sorry I am that I haven't updated in so long. I'll be surprised if anyone's even still reading this story. Things have been SO unbelievably hectic. And another thing, so sorry for the shortness of this chapter. I wrote it at midnight. **

**Merry Christmas, everyone! **

**Disclaimer: All characters, setting, recognisable plotlines etc are property of JK Rowling.**

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><p>"Oliver," Fred ground out, gritting his teeth. Was there no end to the guys that found his girl attractive?<p>

_She's not 'your' girl, _a little voice reminded him. _Not yet, anyway._

Fixing a smile onto his face, he strode to the front of the shop where Oliver was leaning on the counter and chatting away to Hermione. Even from here, Fred could see that he was flexing his muscles, and he rolled his eyes before approaching them.

"Hey, Oliver," he said with a grin, his cheeks already beginning to hurt.

"Fred!" Oliver exclaimed. "Or are you George?"

"I'm Fred," he assured his friend. "How are you, mate? The career with Puddlemere still going strong?"

"Actually, that's the reason I'm in Diagon Alley. I've been going around looking for a job, because some wanker bought his way into the team in my place. While I wait for a position to open, I was wondering if I could work part-time here? I've been up and down Diagon Alley but no one's hiring."

"We're not either, mate," Fred said, faux regretful.

Hermione turned to stare at him. "Didn't you say just yesterday that you wanted a shop assistant so that you and George could focus on inventing?"

Fred cursed silently at himself before reaffixing his grin to his face. "Oh, that's right! Ollie, you're hired! Pay's five Galleons an hour. Report at nine and leave at six and between those times, sell as much as you can!" With a wink, Fred finished his spiel and, with a shake of Oliver's hand, vanished back into the lab.

Oliver raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "What's up with him?"

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "He probably saw you as a bit of a threat," she confided.

Oliver was mystified. "A threat to…?"

"Well… me and Fred."

"Fred and I," Oliver corrected. "You two are dating now?"

Abruptly, Hermione's face dropped into lines of misery. "I'm not sure anymore."

He checked his watch. "I think it's time you took your lunch break. You can tell me about it over a roast beef sandwich." Taking her by the elbow, he steered her to the door, flipped the sign to "Closed" as they left. Neither of them realised that Fred, although unable to hear their words, had been watching with an eagle eye through the open door of the lab.

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><p>"Fred," a voice behind him said conversationally.<p>

Fred jumped about three feet into the air. "Oh. It's you. What?" he asked his twin.

"That's not very nice," George reproached. "I was only going to ask if you were alright."

Fred ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Oliver's going to steal Hermione from me. I can feel it."

George raised a sardonic brow. "Well, mate, you haven't actually popped the question. You went on… what, one date? If you want the bird to be your girlfriend, you actually have to _ask_."

"I know!" Fred snapped. "It's just… difficult."

"Why is it _difficult_?"

"Because I don't know if she feels as strongly as I do about… well, _us_. Just now, she went to have lunch with Oliver."

"Fred, you're a twat. Get your testosterone under control," a new voice interjected. The twins turned around to see Ginny emerging from the fireplace.

"Hello to you too, darling sister," Fred quipped sarcastically.

"Who's going to lunch with Oliver, anyway?" Ginny asked, one hand on her swollen belly as she wound her way through the aisles to her brothers.

"Hermione," George replied. Fred shot him an annoyed look. He didn't want Ginny knowing that.

"Oh, are you two finally together?" she asked excitedly.

Fred goggled at her. "What d'you mean, 'finally'?" he asked at last.

"Since she started working here, the family's been taking bets on how long it'll take for you two to hook up," Ginny replied matter-of-factly. "We all know George is secretly in love with Katie Bell, so it was obviously going to be you."

George blushed as Fred protested. "Well – I – we – what? No! Just - "

"Full sentence any time now, Fred," Ginny requested nastily.

"They kissed," George told her with an evil grin.

"I win!" Ginny crowed, throwing her hands up in the air. "But now? Are you two together?"

"No," George again replied on Fred's behalf. "This idiot hasn't asked her yet. And then he gets irritated when another bloke so much as _looks_ at her."

"I repeat: get your hormones under control, brother of mine. And get your act together too. If you don't snatch her up, someone else will. She's just been getting prettier and prettier, hasn't she? I even saw Blaise Zabini watching her the other day." Fred's skin warmed in jealousy yet again.

"Look, if you're worried about her not reciprocating your feelings, I'll find out for you. But I seriously think you should grow some balls and just go for it rather than acting like a thirteen-year-old."

So saying, she strode back to the fireplace and tossed the glittering green Floo powder in, disappearing with a shout of "The Burrow!"

"She's a lovely, kind person, isn't she?" Fred asked, staring at the spot where she'd disappeared.

"She could have phrased that better," George admitted. "But in theory, it was a correct statement. Blokes do this kind of unsure little dance thing where they're in their early teens. Fred, how many times have we gone to clubs and gotten together with birds we don't even know? You can do this."

"You're right," Fred realised. "Yeah. I'll ask her tonight."

"Atta boy," George praised. "Now let's run this shop properly in our employees' absence."

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><p>MEANWHILE AT CAFÉ DE LA MAGIE…<p>

"So, what's going on with you and Fred?" Oliver asked, biting into a roast beef sandwich. Hermione stirred her pumpkin soup absently as she wondered how to phrase it.

"We went out once. We kissed. And for the last couple of weeks… nothing. Not a second date, not an offer to become official. He kisses my cheek, but never goes beyond that. We don't talk about anything but the shop."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Oh, dear Merlin," he groaned. "He's acting like a socially awkward pre-teen."

"How d'you work that one out?" Hermione asked interestedly.

"He's not just going for it like he should. He's trying to find absolute proof that you fancy him as well."

"I did that in grade school," Hermione laughed.

"Exactly," Oliver replied, waving his fork at her.

"Hel_lo_!" Ginny exclaimed, suddenly appearing at their table.

"Hi, Ginny!" Hermione cried, leaping up to give her friend a soft hug, being mindful of the baby bump. "Sit down! Have you had lunch?"

"Yes, I ate at home. Hi, Oliver," she said with a smile and nod to the man.

Conversation resumed, now centring around Quidditch after Ginny's appearance. Hermione tuned out, talk of the popular Wizarding sport boring her as it always did.

"Hermione, Fred likes you!" Ginny blurted out.

Silence fell at the table.

"I know," Hermione managed at last, her voice surprisingly even. "I just don't know why he isn't doing anything about it."

"Because he's a twat. I'll talk to him about it."

"Have you thought of what to name the kid?" Oliver asked, motioning to Ginny's stomach.

"Harry wants to name him Albus Severus," Ginny said pitifully. "James I can understand. Lily I can understand – that's what he wants to name our first daughter. They're lovely names, and they mean something special to us. But Albus Severus? This poor kid will have a hard life with a name like that."

"I can talk to him, if you want," Hermione offered. If anyone could bully Harry into submission, it was her.

"No need," Ginny said, struggling to her feet. "I'll deal with him."

"Going home so soon?"

"James will need food and Harry will be sure to give in and let him have ice cream. Which he is _not_ allowed to," Ginny said sternly, as if Hermione and Oliver had suggested feeding him some. "Besides, you two need to get back to the shop."

"Oh…right," they chorused in unison, remembering that it was actually a working day.

And back to the shop they went.

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><p>The evening brought a hopeful Fred and a miserable Hermione. He had holed himself up in the lab the whole day, thereby preventing Hermione from seeing him at all.<p>

In light of a depressing day, Hermione had arranged to go out with some old friends from her Hogwarts years, men and women alike. Among the group were Seamus Finnigan, highly eligible bachelor, Dean Thomas, now married to Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, who Hermione had found out was dating her ex-boyfriend (and ex-best friend) Ron Weasley, Zacharias Smith, Ernie Macmillan, Hannah and Neville Longbottom and surprisingly enough, a few Slytherins, among them Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, all single and available with the exception of Pansy, who was married but still saw other men on the side.

Fred approached Hermione just as she was taking down the accounts for the day. "Hermione," he said with a smile. She looked up, smiled tentatively back at him.

"Yes, Fred?"

"Would you like to… would you like to come up to the flat for dinner? I'm cooking," he added with a hopeful smile.

"Oh," Hermione said, her face falling. "I'm going out with some old Hogwarts friends tonight… I'm sorry, Fred."

"That's alright," Fred said easily, though his voice cracked. "Some other time, then. Who's going along tonight?"

"Lavender, Parvati, Dean, Seamus, Zabini, Malfoy and a whole host of others. Ron said he might be going along as well."

Fred felt a flare of jealously as he heard Zabini's name, and had to resist the temptation to drag Hermione upstairs and make sure that she was his and his alone. Now wasn't the time.

"Have fun," he said, hoping she didn't hear the strain in his voice.

Swiftly, she leaned up and kissed him softly. "Goodnight."

Snatching her purse up from below the counter, the left the shop with a tinkling of bells.

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><p>Fred didn't know what possessed him to do what he did that night.<p>

No, that's not true.

It was the Wizka.

Five times as strong as Firewhiskey, and Fred went and drank half the bottle.

Fucking alcohol.

Taken over by a wave of jealousy, he contacted his younger brother and ascertained where the group was to be meeting. Drunkenly, he made his way to the club in question. If George had been at home, he would have stopped him. But at the time, George was making his move on Katie Bell. And so Fred stumbled into the club at eleven at night, his eyes flicking around the room in search of Hermione.

When he spotted her, his chest ached with jealousy again. There she was on the dance floor, completely sober, and dancing with _Zabini_. Hands on her waist, he leaned closer, grinding his hips into hers.

Without thinking, Fred was plunging crazily into the throng. He reached the dancing duo and yanked them apart.

"Fred?" Hermione questioned. "Fred… what – ? Are you _drunk_?"

"What the hell are you doing dancing with him?" Fred growled.

Hermione tried to keep her cool. _He's drunk, _she reminded herself. _He doesn't know what he's saying._

"He's a friend of mine," she replied as coolly as possible.

"_Friends_," he sneered the word, "don't dance like _that_."

"And _how_," Hermione said, her voice growing steadily icier, "were we dancing?"

If Fred had been sober, he would have recognised the danger signs. As it was, he ploughed on, unaware of the jeopardy his manhood was in.

"Like he's a pimp and you're his paying whore!" Fred roared.

Behind Hermione, Blaise tensed. "Mate, Hermione and I may be just friends, but I would still have no problem smashing your face in for that."

"Leave it, Blaise," Hermione reassured. "He's drunk. He's not in his right mind."

"Like you'd have a chance," Fred slurred at Blaise with another sneer. "Hermione's _mine_."

Real anger stirred in Hermione's eyes at this latest claim. Releasing Blaise's hand, she took Fred's instead and pulled him through the crowd into the alley beside the club.

"Let's get one thing very clear," Hermione said venomously, poking Fred's chest. "I am not a possession, not to mention you have laid no claim to me. You do not have the right to barge into an evening with my friends and accuse me of shagging Blaise Zabini. You have even less right to abuse me verbally, because I have done _nothing_ wrong. _You_ are the one who's the problem here." She gave him a contemptuous look. "I'm through with you, Fred Weasley. Talk to me when you've grown some balls."

And so saying, she spun on the spot and Apparated home, throwing up anti-Fred wards before collapsing on the sofa and starting to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lol you guys should totally hate me.**

**I lost track of where this story was going, but I FINALLY got a good idea and HOPEFULLY, you'll see updates a bit more often.**

**I want to thank everyone who's reviewed/favourited/alerted, I was sort of overwhelmed when I looked at my legacy story stats and saw the numbers. Thank you thank you thank you! I am completely undeserving (though in fairness to ME, I do have A LOT going on right now).**

**Anyway, enjoy! I know it's short and pathetic, but hopefully it will suffice until next chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I own a tummy named Muffin that is entirely too fat. If I owned Harry Potter it would be fatter, because I'd be eating at gourmet restaurants all the time, but I don't, so it's not. Thank you.**

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><p>Ginny was aghast.<p>

"What did you _do_?" she asked, one hand clamped protectively around her belly.

Fred was facedown on the sofa. "I was drunk," he said by way of explanation.

"And?" Ginny prompted. "That doesn't explain why Hermione is holed up in her flat, not answering letters, has blocked off her Floo and put up anti-Apparition wards all over the place."

"Iakyuzherofactiglikapayighore," Fred mumbled into the couch cushion.

"So help me, Fred, I am a pregnant woman and my temper is short!" Ginny threatened.

"I accused her of acting like a whore," Fred ground out. "With Zabini."

"You did _what_?" George, who had thus far been silent, exclaimed. "That was out of line, mate."

"I know," Fred said miserably. "And I don't know how to explain to her when she's not letting anyone in. I don't even know what I would say!"

Ginny was looking at him calculatingly. "What?" he asked her.

"I know what your problem is," she announced.

"Do tell," he quipped with a raised eyebrow.

"This is _not_ a time for sarcasm, Fred Weasley!" Ginny admonished, sounding so much like Molly Weasley that both boys cringed. "Anyway," she continued calmly, "you, Fred, are afraid of commitment."

"Ex-excuse me?" he spluttered. "I am _not_ afraid of commitment. Fifth year, Alicia Spinnet - "

" – Dumped her for a go at Cho Chang," Ginny interrupted. Fred scowled.

"Fine. Seventh year, Angelina Johnson - "

"- Was abandoned because you left the school during Umbridge's time and promptly hooked up with Verity."

"That girl I met at the club - "

"_Whose name you've forgotten."_

"Okay, point made," Fred conceded. "So what should I do?"

"I'd try contacting her through Muggle means, mate," George suggested. Ginny looked at him in surprise.

"That's actually quite a good idea!" she exclaimed.

"Thanks for that ringing endorsement, dear," George said sarcastically. "But seriously, Fred, send her flowers of something, but through a Muggle delivery service."

"Right!" Fred exclaimed, brightening up. "I'll do that. I'll do that right now." He strode to the door and his hand was on the knob when he spun around.

"I – er – don't know where to buy flowers," he said sheepishly.

"Oh, be a man," Ginny snapped. "You're grown up, you can make your way to London and ask for a florist without our help."

"And – erm – I don't have Muggle money," Fred admitted.

George and Ginny stared at him. Wordlessly, George pointed out the window at Gringotts. "Stop being a ninny and get out there."

Fred didn't bother with a rebuttal since he knew the accusation was true. He nodded, retrieving his moneybag and vanishing through the door.

George looked at Ginny. "Bet?"

"I give it a week before she caves and gives in."

"I give it five days," George declared.

"You have to babysit James for two weeks if I win," Ginny told him.

"You have to put Shrinking Solution in Harry's drink if I win," George challenged with a shark-like grin. Ginny's smile was equally wicked as she held out her hand. They shook on it and Ginny Apparated away, still grinning.

* * *

><p>Ginny's next stop was the Granger residence, as she liked to call it. From the outside, Hermione's home was a modest two-bedroom flat, but after extensive redecorating, with Undetectable Extension Charms and the whole shebang, the inside of the apartment now resembled something more like an advertisement for a hotel.<p>

"Hermione?" Ginny called, knocking at the door. "Open up!"

"Go away, Ginny!" Hermione yelled back.

"You've exceeded your grace period for moping!" Ginny shouted, now pounding in earnest on the door. "It's just _Fred_! Why on earth are you moping so much?"

There was a pause. "Because!" Hermione shouted.

"Because….?" Ginny asked warningly.

There was a pregnant silence, and then the door swung open.

Hermione stood on the other side, her already insane hair dishevelled and sticking up in odd places. A frown creased her forehead, shaping her lips into a dissatisfied pucker. "Because, Ginny," she said slowly, "I have to see him _every week_ at the Weasley dinner!"

Ginny pushed past Hermione into her house. A (paid) House Elf appeared to take her coat.

"Listen, Hermione," she said sternly. "Fred obviously has some issues. He said the wrong thing. Now, you need to show him who's boss."

Hermione looked sceptical. "Meaning…?"

Ginny fished around in her handbag and brought out a sheet of paper, waving it triumphantly. "I know what Fred's going to be doing every night this week. You, young lady, are going to be 'appearing' there, looking at _hot_ as possible." She giggled, nudging her friend's shoulder. "We'll show him what he's missing."

Hermione gave Ginny a doubtful look. "Gin, you realise that the number of sexy clothes I have totals about… two?"

"Nothing a bag of Galleons and maybe a credit card can't fix," Ginny said with a wink.

"I can't let you do that," Hermione said immediately.

Ginny laughed, long and loud, until Hermione started to get a little worried for little Albus. Surely all the jiggling wasn't healthy for him?

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny sighed at last, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "You sound like you thought you had a choice."

Hermione scowled. "Fine. I'm in. Now get out. I want to shower." Crossly, she opened the door for Ginny, who was totally unfazed by her best friend's rudeness. As the door closed behind her, a devious smile spread slowly across her face.

The Plan had been put into action.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione stared.

There was no other thing to do, really. Frankly, she was too shocked to do anything else.

What does one do when one's office is covered floor to ceiling in roses?

As if it wasn't enough to fill an office with expensive flowers, the mystery giver had bought _magic_ roses, charmed to grow in colours not found in nature. Electric blue roses glowed in the centre of a bouquet of black roses. Wreaths of entwined purple and white were suspended from the ceiling. Looping trails of metallic silver criss-crossed the room. The floor was strewn with red and gold blooms. Yellow and pale orange were heaped upon her desk.

Who had the money to do this for her, let alone the inclination?

"_Sara!_" she shouted, her voice louder than intended in her agitation.

There was a clatter from the next room and her new secretary stumbled in. "Yes, Miss Granger? Is the office not to your liking? I can change up the colour scheme and ask for different carpeting and – _oh_."

Hermione massaged the bridge of her nose. This was the problem with new jobs and new offices – you never knew how to act, who to go to in order to manage certain aspects of the work. "Were these roses put in here as some kind of welcoming gift?"

"Certainly not," Sara said primly, sounding almost affronted. It was the first time all morning that Hermione had heard her sound anything but over-helpful.

"Then who brought them here?"

"I – I can't say, Ma'am."

Hermione studied the girl's face. It was an obvious lie. Sara trembled under Hermione's scrutiny.

Sighing, Hermione motioned for her to leave. No use in traumatising her secretary on the first day.

Conjuring up nine cartons, she began separating the roses by colour. White roses went into the first bin, purple in the next, and so on. All the while, she searched for a note of some sort amidst the floral debris, but found none.

As she was moving the yellow and orange blooms into their cartons, the discovered one final surprise on top of the paperwork she had to tackle that day. A final, super-sized rose with a silver stem and petals of a deep, sea-blue, her favourite colour. The flower was Spell-O-Taped to a bar of Honeydukes' finest Irish Whiskey chocolate. This one was charmed to stay alive and perfect, so she slid it into her bag. She would keep this one.

"Sara!" she shouted again, recognising a bad habit in the making as she did so.

A clatter. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Donate these flowers to St Mungo's children's ward," Hermione said, waving her hand at the cartons lined up by the door. "And get me some coffee," she added as an afterthought. She grinned to herself. She'd always been very nice to her secretaries. She would allow herself one day of ordering Sara around and then it was back to square one.

Sighing, she sat back in her chair and opened the first folder.

_New Ministry Legislation 1852_

_House Elves are no longer to wear the clothes of a human. Masters are required to provide living quarters, sustenance and some manner of clothing that does not involve purchase or reluctant donation of goods. _

She sighed and flipped to the next page, the corrective document, signing her name carefully at the end of it before moving on to the next document. Sighing again at the amount of legal vocabulary involved, the began perusing it, resigning herself to a long day.

When the sun was beginning to dip over the horizon, Hermione sat back, stretching her aching hands.

"Sara!" she shouted.

A tired-sounding clatter from the other room. "Yes, Ma'am?"

Hermione grinned. "Sorry for pushing you around so much. I'm not like that, really." Sara looked unconvinced. "Really," Hermione insisted, tossing the girl a bag of Drooble's Best that she had picked up earlier. "I'm going home, you should too. But before we go, I want to know who brought the flowers in."

Sara immediately averted her eyes. "He – he warned me not to tell! He said he'd jinxed it so that if his name were even whispered in his room, I'd come up in some kind of skin disease."

Hermione ground her teeth, her affection for the rose-giver evaporating on the spot. How dare he bring her innocent secretary into this? "Whatever the jinx is, I promise I can undo it," she assured the girl, taking out her wand in preparation.

"Ma'am, I really don't feel comfortable - "

"Sara."

"Fred Weasley, ma'am."

As soon as the name was out of her mouth, Hermione leapt to her feet, anticipating some horrible WWW prank to go off. Instead, she found herself staring with something akin to amusement at the pimples making their way across Sara's face. She shrieked as she caught sight of herself in the mirror in a kind of horrified recognition.

SNEAK, said the purple pustules.

"Creative, Mr Weasley," she murmured. "But you forget that it was my own invention. If anyone can undo this, it's me."

"It's your own charm?" Sara asked as the pimples vanished one by one.

"Indeed, yes," Hermione confirmed. "Why?"

"My aunt Marietta has the exact same jinx on her. The pimples won't go. Do you know anything about that?"

If there was one thing Hermione had learned from Mariette Edgecombe, it was knowing when to keep her mouth shut. "No, not at all," she told her secretary smoothly, hiding a smirk. The day had certainly been full of surprises, hadn't it?

"Fred Weasley," she mused as she prepared to Apparate. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and I think you'll find that flowers don't have the slightest effect on me."

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><p>Fred was going to get what was coming to him one way or another, that was for sure. Ginny had cornered Hermione after work the previous day and bullied her into a shopping trip.<p>

Now, looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione wondered if it had been a wise decision to agree.

Tight black denim shorts, stockings, shag-me black pumps, a halter top and what Ginny affectionately termed 'sex hair'. "You look _beautiful_!" Ginny enthused.

"I look like sex on a stick," Hermione grumbled. Snatching up her purse from a side table, she motioned grumpily to her friend. "Coming?"

"Definitely." Ginny latched on and spun on the spot, Apparating them both to _Shaker_, a new club that WWW was sponsoring. Hermione knew that Fred would be at the event to promote, but Ginny had confirmed it.

"Where is he?" Hermione asked anxiously, craning her neck to see over the crowd.

"Probably hasn't arrived yet. Drinks?"

"You're pregnant," Hermione accused with a glare. "No drinks for you."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Two Mohitos. One virgin, one normal," she told the bartender. He leered at Hermione but set about preparing the drinks without a word.

"On the house, love," he said with a wink that made Hermione's skin crawl.

"Yeah, I don't think so," another voice interrupted, shoving money down on the counter. "That should cover all their drinks tonight."

Hermione jerked sideways, hard-pressed not to let out a shriek.

"Merlin, Fred," Ginny snapped, "Haven't I told you before not to just appear like that?"

He ignored her. "You look lovely," he said to Hermione, his eyes raking over her in a way that made her tingle with desire. "Did you get my flowers?"

She scowled at him. Taken aback, he asked, "Did you not like them?"

"How _dare_ you jinx my secretary?" Hermione demanded, poking him in the chest. "With my own jinx, that too! Fred Weasley, I told you countless times in Hogwarts _not to test on innocent people_. I might have liked the flowers had you attached a note and not sworn my secretary to secrecy." She surveyed him snootily. "I suppose you've lost your chance."

She strutted into the crowd and began dancing with a man Fred recognised as Draco Malfoy. Grinding his teeth, he smacked some more money onto the counter and poured himself a Firewhiskey.

"You're such an _arse_, Fred," Ginny groaned. "You should know by now that Hermione won't appreciate any collateral damage."

Too incensed to reply, he strode off into the crowd to find George.

"You'll have to do the speech, mate," he told his twin.

"Why?" George asked. "What will you be doing?"

"Locking myself in my room with Firewhiskey and without a wand," Fred replied, toasting his twin. "Good luck."

"Cheers, mate," George said worriedly. "Take care of yourself."

As he Apparated away, he caught one last glance of Hermione, and his throat went drier than the Sahara. Evil siren, she was dressed like that to tease him, wasn't she?

Groaning at the lasting images of her in his head, he tossed his wand across the room and shut himself in his bedroom, cracking open the bottle of Firewhiskey and taking a gulp. With luck, he'd get drunk fast and pass out.

_Hermione, Hermione, Hermione_, he thought angrily. Then, _Malfoy_. _I'm going to kill him. _

He took another swig of Firewhiskey. "It's not over, Miss Granger," he promised the air above him. "The roses were only the beginning."

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><p><strong>Updates will (hopefully) be faster since I've finally got a definite idea of where this is going. Thanks for all the support! Love, hugs and cyber brownies to everyone. <strong>


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